


Graveside Visit

by madwriter223



Series: Domestic Crobby Fics [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 18:56:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2743505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madwriter223/pseuds/madwriter223
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley finally comes clean about his meatsuit. Bobby knows just what he will do with that information.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Graveside Visit

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea. None whatsoever. I'd been cleaning and suddenly this.  
> Enjoy anyway.

“This is in bad taste.” Crowley pointed out grumpily, tapping his foot against the ground.

Bobby ignored him and knelt down in front of the grave. “I don't care.” he answered, laying the bunch of daisies next to the gravestone. “It's proper.”

“It's properly in bad taste, you mean.” Crowley stuffed his hands into his pockets. “What are you even going to do? He's not in there. Just rocks to weigh the coffin down.”

“It's a symbol and we're doing this.” Bobby dictated and slipped his cap off

Crowley frowned suddenly and glanced over his shoulder. “You mean you're doing this. I'm not going to be seen here.” He stated and disappeared.

Bobby snorted and sat back. He read the golden lettering and counted up the age he'd died in. Young then, barely twenty six. He sighed and closed his eyes. It was very peaceful here, full of green grass and large trees. Beautiful place to lie in. He placed his closed fist against his heart and said a silent prayer. Then another one, a Scottish prayer he'd learned off the Internet. Just because Crowley refused didn't mean Bobby wouldn't do this for him as well.

“Excuse me.” A hand touched his shoulder and he whirled around. The woman jumped back and let out a startled laugh, clutching the baby on her hip tightly. “Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you.” She glanced between him and the grave. “Did you know Patrick?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “In a way. Only briefly, many years ago.” He looked at the date of death. “I'd only recently found out he'd died. I thought I should visit.” He glanced up at her. “You his daughter?”

“Oh no, I'm his niece. Uncle Patrick never did have anyone. Just my grandma and my mum” She sat down next to him and spread out a small blanket in front of her.

“It must've been hard on you.” Bobby said softly, watching her.

“My mum took it pretty hard. My dad had a big family, so there were always people and relatives around, but it's not quite the same. Blood is blood, after all.” She sat the baby on the blanket and lit the small candle right by the gravestone. The baby was clutching a single flower and he waved it around madly.

Bobby swallowed. “How did he die?” he asked softly, because he wanted to hear it from someone not a demon. That source might be biased.

She gave him a soft look. “He fell out of a third story window. He'd survived, but he was in a coma for eighteen months with practically no brain activity. The doctors talked my grandma into giving up, but when they did pull the plug, he just woke up. Just like that. From what they told me he seemed right as rain. A few days later he was discharged and he walked out of the hospital and straight into an eight-car pile-up.” She sighed. “Horrible thing.”

Bobby nodded and said nothing. He recalled the conversation he'd had with Crowley, the one that led him here.

_“They'd just unplugged him when I took over. You can imagine their surprise when the deadie suddenly woke up.”_

_“So his family thinks he's alive somewhere?”_

_“Nope. A nicely arranged car accident right after I left the hospital took care of that. A large accident of course, one with lots of damage. The body was just so 'mangled' no one really looked too closely. It also helped that the coroner was one of ours.”_

_“So he has a grave.”_

_“Yup. Why do you ask?”_

So that source wasn't so biased after all.

The woman held her son's middle and gazed at the grave. She didn't look at him as she continued. “Mum always said that it a miracle, but not ours. She'd say someone had prayed to the wrong ears, so to speak, to get my uncle to wake up. And when he did, God had to right it, because my uncle was never supposed to wake up. Not according to God's plan for him. Complete bullcrap, but it gave her comfort.” She gave a small smile. “She'd come here often, bring me and my siblings. At least once a month and for every holiday. She'd talk to the grave as if it was a living person and it kinda stuck. It's a tradition now. We don't live far from the cemetery, you see, so we usually take a family walk on sunny days.”

Bobby glanced at the clear sky and nodded. “It is a fine day.” He glanced at her. “You must miss him.”

She shook her head and pulled the flower out of her son's mouth. “Oh no. I barely remember him, I was only four when he died.” She got a faraway look as he recalled her uncle. “The only thing I do remember is that my uncle would do this magic trick, something with his fingers. I don't even remember what it had been, but I do remember that he'd done it every time he saw me. Uncle Patrick and his magic trick.” She had a small smile on her face as she'd said it, gazing at the grave fondly. “It's a good memory to have.”

Bobby smiled at her and got to his feet slowly. “I'll leave you to your talk then. Don't want to intrude.”

“Thank you.” She smiled at him. “For visiting as well, uncle Patrick likes visitors. He gets them so often he must.” She chuckled at her joke, and Bobby smiled as well and gave a small wave.

As he was walking away, an eight-year old boy raced by him, with an older girl following after the kid. They headed straight for the grave, so Bobby stopped for a moment and watched.

“Hi uncle Patrick! It's me, Patrick!” The boy practically yelled, plopping down next to the woman. “I got a C on my last test, but that's just 'cause the teacher hates me.”

“It's also because he lost his book and couldn't study as much as he should.” The woman added with a pointed look at the boy.

The kid shrugged. “Well yeah, but it's mostly the teacher thing.”

The mother laughed and turned to the girl. “Julie, aren't you going to say hello?”

The girl huffed like only teenagers could. “This is ridiculous. No one else at school does this!”

The mother patted her hand. “Because it's a family thing, honey. It means a lot to me. But if you really don't want to talk to your uncle, you can wait by grandma.” She pointed at a grave a few spots to the left.

“Oh, _fine_.” The girl gave a huff and sat down. “Hi, uncle Patrick. How's afterlife?”

Bobby smiled and walked away. He made his way to the oak tree some yards away; he could see Crowley hiding behind the trunk. Shy bastard.

“You know, you could've stayed.” He said when he was within earshot. “She doesn't remember him.”

Crowley gave a careless shrug. “The grave has a picture.” he pointed out. “I'm sure she's not blind enough to miss the similarities.”

Bobby patted him on the shoulder. “She'd just ignore them, you know how civilians are.”

Crowley shrugged, pointedly not looking at the little family. “Are you satisfied now?”

“Yup.” Bobby placed his hand on the demon's elbow. “Come on, lets go home.” 

Crowley gave him a contemplative look, then pressed a kiss to the hunter's cheek. A heartbeat passed and they disappeared home.

**Author's Note:**

> *psst*  
> I'm a bit paranoid, so in case someone didn't get it, Patrick is Crowley's meatsuit.


End file.
